2Rehabilitation
by reapersama101
Summary: Bedford Roe is a 15 year old girl sent to rehab for...her entertainment. Embry and the other members of the Pack have been sent to rehab to keep their secret. When these innocent bystanders meet, the world shall set out to be against them. ImprintxOC.
1. prologue

They thought it was my fault.

I find it kinda hysterical that they think it's my fault that I come home at 3 a.m., smelling of that shit marijuana.

But when they suggested rehab for me… I just had to entertain them.

You see, the issue isn't that I _do _drugs but rather that I hang around people who do. I don't like drugs. They screw you up. But my parents didn't need to know that their baby rebel (as "baby" as a fifteen year old girl can get) isn't actually all that jacked up. So when I came home, October 19th, and they were waiting on the couch for me…I actually found it quite amusing.

We live in Port Angeles, Washington. I live here, I worked here last year, and I go to school here. I own here. I just…don't hang around here. No, I hang around the Utensils. That's what I and my local friends and all the others call the ones down in Forks. I hang around a specific dude, Michael Carob, and he just happens to do drugs with the other Utensils. Sometimes even some Pushovers (La Push reservation kids) came by. But those times, they were my people (non-drug users) and they "killed the mood" if they objected to druggies. So no one objects in fear of getting kicked out of the best parties that happen in the state; every night. I mean, in the past year or so I haven't missed a single night-crawling session with Mike and the others. I just don't do drugs. But my parents, again, don't know that.

So when I came home in a pair of skinny jeans, a pair of four inched high heeled leather knee-length boots (Jesus, that's a long name for a boot) and a low cut black V-neck top with a pair of fishnet arm-warmers…well, they kind of jazzed out and pulled out the brochures. But not after the whole "sit" greeting.

Let me start from sidewalk up.

I took my steps up the sidewalk, my untouched leather black bag swinging happily in my hands. Sometimes this was where my parents got their suspicions. I never really 'touched' the shit in my bag. I never found a reason to. About a week ago, they found yet another pack of shit that someone had snuck into my bag.

I gently pressed open the door before reaching up and releasing my long, dark auburn hair from its high genie-style ponytail. It swung out fully to the bottom of my shoulder blades and over my shoulders before finally ceasing. The mixture of brown, red, and black each shone brightly in my hair. It was natural, let you be. But I was surprised when my green eyes found two figures huddled on the couch; my parents.

My mom and my dad were sitting side by side on the couch, each in their pajamas and looking worn. I breathed in through my nose loudly to alert them of my presence. When that didn't work, I shut the door just loud enough to be heard only in this room. Then my parents turned their heads. Dad's soft expression hardened as he saw me and mom's tear-filled eyes attempted to dry. Mom swiped at her tears and stood up from the seat she was in. She was still beautiful, even after forty-five years of living. Her hair was the contribution of red to my auburn and her eyes were the slightest blue in their emerald green. Her face was worn, though, and small tear tracks proved restlessness in her eyes. She was wearing her thick blue bathrobe but I suspected nothing else (ew).

Dad stood next. He was wearing just a gray t-shirt and a pair of green and blue flannel pajama bottoms for the year-long cold weather that we gained in Washington. It could never be told what the weather was in this state. Dad's own hair was the brown contribution to my hair and his own eyes were a bright blue. His face held gruff shadow and perched on his nose was a pair of tiny full-circle spectacles. He was a professor and often reminded me of Negima from the anime.

"Sit down, Bet," Mom said quietly. Her voice was hoarse and proved her long hours of crying. I frowned at this. They led to such assumptions. Though I felt the slightest pang of guilt for making them cry and not clearing this up, they were children needing to be taught. They needed to learn on their own that I wasn't taking drugs and though I was friends with some of those people, I was just as much friends with those who don't take drugs.

My mom swung out her arm in a sweeping gesture to the couch and I accepted my seat on the center cushion of the stiff blue couch. It had come with the house. There was a flat screen TV on the black coffee table that served as an entertainment center up against the wall that the couch faced. "Betty, we believe that your habit has gone too far." Dad said bluntly. I raised my eyebrows at my dad, staying silent as I mostly did.

Mike even praised me often as the silent contribution to the party; every good party needed one. I suppressed the smirk on my face but barely. My parents were too oblivious, though, to notice that if I was high, I'd be on Cloud 9, not down here on this disgusting earth. Mom blinked away the oncoming tears and dramatically tilted her head to face the ceiling. I had to suppress my giggles and laughter at the dramatic scene that was meant for nothing.

As mom continued her theatrics, dad decided he would speak for the time being. "We understand that drugs can be very…addictive." I bet dad had one of those moments where the word is on the tip of his tongue but it seemed alien, foreign to him. Dad's facial expression showed he was struggling to find words to explain this situation. "And we know that you are a beautiful girl, inside and out." Dad continued. The fact that he was feeding me this shit totally evaporated all guilt from my mind, just for his corniness. He was, in no way, going to make me believe anything that sounds like a line out of _Smallville_.

I didn't need a family drama episode; I needed them to know that they can trust me and I wanted them to feel bad for not believing they could. I suppressed my anger and instead settled for just waiting, expectantly as dad struggled again to take this slowly. Dad finally stared me in the eyes, determination shining and the anticipation of triumph bright in his mind. "You are a beautiful, kind soul. You just took a wrong path somewhere." He continued softly. He was trying to be gentle, at least, and this was something to give him credit for. Hell, he could do interventions professionally with this speech he's got wrapped up!

Mom finally settled down enough to take a seat beside me. Then she took out the bag from my purse that had been freshly restocked. It was full, which meant I hadn't done any of it, but my parents were too dumb to even glance at that fact. "This," She said and shook the bag in my face, the weeds bumbling about in the compacted bag. "Can't be here," She finished and stood up. She made an entire show of walking over to the trash can and tossing it in the bin. I made no comment about how that was going to end up in some hobo's system later on.

"You are an example for your sister, just as your Anna and Caleb were for you!" Mom exclaimed. Mom seemed to forget that Nikki, my baby sister, was not yet at the impressionable age. Neither was she at the age to talk appropriately or get out of her adorable stage. Nikki was three. I mean, sure, she could easily get at the weed but would she seriously know how to use it? And besides, wouldn't throwing it in the trash just make it end up to her even more? Hell, Nikki could be that hobo! She tended to look in the trash quite often with her curiosity getting the best of her as soon as she finished knocking over the trash can first.

"We need you to clean up your act." Dad was obviously tagged after mom's one-sentence role in the intervention. "We're sending you to rehab, every day after school at 3 p.m., straight from school." Dad said. "The Recreational Rehabilitation Center is a place where kids like you, ones who've lost their way, can find themselves again." Dad said. Ugh. Though this sounded very unappealing in his terms, they sounded appealing to me; watching people who messed with drugs and then lying about the times that I "did" drugs. I could even add in a tear or two. Maybe this could be quite entertaining. The more I thought about it, the more psyched I was. Hell, I could even crack off the parties because of this; it ought to keep me satisfied.

It could be very hilarious, the stories I come up with and seeing others' reactions. Oh, yeah; this is da shit.

Dad opened his mouth again to speak but I decided to put us both out of our miseries. "Alright," I said simply and stood up from my seat. I zipped up my bag from where it'd been left open by my careless mother. "'Alright'?" Dad repeated. I looked at him, both eyebrows raised in question. What was his objection? "Alright; I'll go." I answered more clearly. I carried my bag over to the stairs and was halfway up when dad let out a huff of triumph. "You will start tomorrow; I've already set up an appointment for you to head down there. You will be quite satisfied when you make a fresh slate." Dad called after me. I grimaced at this. He just had to add the corny.

**3-Embry-3**

Of course, I had no clue what the hell was going on. But when I saw mom on the beach with the other parents, most of them seeming a bit amused while others seemed a bit confused, I knew something was up.

My "bull" radar shot to the sky when I saw mom's determined expression. My mother, Hanna Call, has been my only parent since…forever. I've never had a father. So when I saw how determined she looked, it was only the motherly type that made me so positive that this concerned me. The reason that Billy Black, Sue Clearwater, and all the other 'rents were here (including Quil Ateara Sr.) left me confused.

All nine out of ten of us were here, though Sam was here with Emily as well, already settled with the other parents on the driftwood that surrounded the roaring fire. "Sit down, boys," Sue announced with a slight smirk being suppressed from her face. She found something amusing. I sat down between Jake and Seth, the two safest of the Pack besides Quil, who'd already taken his seat on the ground where I didn't want to be. I didn't like being on the ground; the thought of all those…sandy creatures crawling all over you make me paranoid.

It was basically the only thing that left me with too much fear these days. I freak out when itty-bitty cretins are anywhere near me. Mom gave a soft reassuring smile to each of us though it was nervous. "Mrs. Call here seems to have the impression that you boys…are on steroids." Sue announced to us. I was about to burst out laughing before Billy spoke up. "I'm also concerned with this conclusion," He said. But the teasing gleam in his eyes was matched with a similar gleam that told us to roll with it, to just make this assumption as clean as possible and let her believe it for the sake of our secret.

Mom's soft smile evaporated into a concerned, grim line. But Paul was an idiot. "I admit it," He confessed falsely. I turned to glare at him but halted my movement when I saw Billy's silent order in his eyes again. I had to roll with it. "Are each of you…connected to this drug?" Mom asked the rest of us. Paul smirked smugly. If you could call the Quileute heritage of being a shape-shifter a drug, then yes, yes we are. So we had to confess. One by one, we each begrudgingly began to confirm this false assumption for the sake of my mom's safety and our secret.

Finally my mom let out a hefty sigh. "This is why I have enrolled each of you in the Recreational Rehabilitation Center in Port Angeles." Mom announced. I think everyone was shocked at this announcement; even the adults, maybe. But Sam recovered quickly. "And I will also go with you to this center as a patient." He said begrudgingly. As Alpha, he had to commit and dedicate to this Pack so he had to ride this one out with us. Mom smiled at him proudly, a fine expression of triumph glad on her face. Next time, I promise, I will listen to my Bull Radar.

**A/N: It's very short but it will suffice for the PROLOGUE. Live and learn, my pretties. If anyone's actually reading this anymore. Now, for a fine visit from our old friend, here for SEASON 2…..(drum roll, please)….**

"**I don't want to." **

**"AW! But Mr. Disclaimer…you're a key role in this story. If you're not here, then we can't publish this story online because then it'll be called plagiarism (wow, I spelt that right)! We'll get sued and you will have to do this for other people who don't respect you." **

**"YOU don't respect me."**

**"Yeah, but I'm me which makes this a whole lot more fun."**

**"Only for this one story because I haven't done any for season 2. Will you even make a season 3?" **

**"I sure hope so. If people review and actually write…ooh, this reminds me! I was looking on my story stats and found out that someone in Iraq has been reading my stories. So I want to dedicate season 2 to the soldiers of Iraq, along with the suffering locals who are innocent. I hope that you all make it through this peacefully. I love you all, and I wish you the best." **

**"You know what, sure; Reapersama101 does not own Twilight or any of the characters that she did not create. Please do not sue us."**

**"YAY!"**


	2. Session is now in order

Chapter 2: Session is now in Order

"Betty! Betty, get up! You have to get to school." Mom's voice rained through my door annoyingly so. "You have to get to school. If you're so tired, then just go to bed earlier. In fact, just don't leave the house at all after school. Well, that and your new sessions with re—,"

"Please go away, mother," I said just loud enough for her to hear over her rambling. "I'm getting dressed." I assured her as I swept the thick black sheets off of my body to reveal my pale flesh to the world besides my blue short-shorts and my black camisole. I sighed silently and swung my feet to the ground tiredly. I wanted to go back to sleep but if I did, my mother would end the world with her theatrics and rambling. My mother is quirky.

"Alright! Ooh, and wear something nice for your group today!" Mom called through the door. _Now she's calling it 'group'? She seems to be repressing the fact that its rehab for a reason that I did not even do. _I mentally sighed at the exasperation my mother leaves me. I stood up, reaching behind my head to scratch at the space between my shoulder blades. It was scratching from the lapel of my camisole. I headed over to my dresser and pulled out a random outfit. As much as I wished that it had been something random and odd, my clothes are never random and odd due to the fact that my mom organizes them by outfit and never leaves me with a heart to give into the process of changing.

Today's outfit, it seemed, was a pair of gray ash-colored skinny jeans along with a brown Babydoll t-shirt with seemingly random gold foil wings on either of my breasts. It was…disorienting. I sighed to myself, deciding to deal with the shirt's design later. The design was pretty alright, I guess, but it seemed…again, disorienting. I finally found myself pulling out my black military style jacket that held the double rows of silver buttons. I couldn't find it in my heart to abandon what my mom would call "fashionable".

I pulled the jacket on and rolled up the sleeves to my elbows before finally replacing my boots from the earlier night on my feet. As I walked to the door, grabbing my key on the chain and my phone from my nightstand, my heels clicked and clacked against the wooden boards. I slung the key on the chain over my head and let it dangle just barely over my navel. I quickly combed my hair in my mirror before heading back out the door, locking it behind me. My door was locked with a key because my parents obviously don't trust me and I wouldn't be able to survive if my mom came barging in every morning to wake me up along with Nikki.

I made my way down the stairs and found myself in the kitchen soon enough. My dad was dishing out eggs, toast, bacon and sausage. He offered to everyone but me. This was fine to me as I reached onto the top of the fridge and pulled down my box of strawberry Nutri-Grain. I pulled out a bar and shoved it back on top of the fridge. Dad gave me a disapproving look. His objection to me having a special breakfast was my punishment for coming home at three in the morning. I never thought much of it, though.

"Mommy, why does Belly have to go to goop?" Nikki asked from her high chair. She was too small to fit in a chair but she knew enough words and thoughts to ask questions like these. "Because, Nix, Betty has a problem and there are others with the same problem who wants to meet her." Mom sugar-coated it for Nikki. I, of course, knew that mom was feeling self-pity for having a "troubled teen" in the family, from her own womb. I frowned at this thought and unwrapped my Nutri-Grain bar. I found myself already making my way to the door by this time.

I gave a stiff yawn before heading out the door.

=3=Embry=3=

I hate school. It sucks beyond belief when you know that afterwards you have to go to rehab for a crime you didn't commit. I understand how my mom got to the conclusion that we were on steroids but that doesn't mean that we actually were! And enrolling us to rehab was beyond this. So I found myself dragging myself to final hour, not the least bit excited for the final end of the day. It was a first for me. I had to go through two to three hours of talking about an addiction that doesn't exist. Not to mention that there were ten of us who had to go, including our Pack Alpha, and this meant that we would take up just about every single inch of wherever the hell they held this group session.

Thankfully, the last hour was gym. And today was dodge ball. And half of us were on the other team which makes it fair game (which is why Coach split us up). I spent the hour aiming red rubber balls at Collin's face and Brady's jugular but each were expertly caught and thrown back to me, which too were caught.

Eventually it just became us, the Pack, in the game and Coach had to call it quits because we just kept on matching each other's ability. I don't think once did the ball touch the ground after it was picked up by one of the Pack members. So it was more like a game of catch; just harder. Okay, so a game of wolfy catch. Yay…

After I got changed and allowed myself a brief shower to wash away the stink I was out. The bell rang seconds after my right foot touched the ground outside of the locker room. So I begrudgingly fell in step with Jake and Quil more than the others. "What do you think'll happen?" Quil groaned to us. He was upset that he couldn't see Claire immediately after school as he always does. "We'll probably talk about our 'addiction' then we'll all have group hugs." I admitted. Though it seems like a joke, this is actually what I expect. Maybe a few trust falls, I don't know. "Well, think about it; at least there'll be other druggies who'll keep us entertained. We might even get to meet a few suicidal people." I joked. Quil chuckled along with Jake who was just as glum about the same reason except instead of Claire it was with Nessie, his half-vamp imprint.

After climbing into one of our many cars (I think it was Jake's Rabbit but I don't remember), we were off on the road and towards the rehab center where my mom had enrolled us. Again, yay….

=3=Betty=3=

The second that I stepped foot on the first step of the rehab center I was annoyed as my thoughts assaulted me. Mom and dad didn't trust me; I was sent here for no reason whatsoever; I wanted to be entertained, not bored to death; I didn't like how many cars there were in the lot. It surprised me how many cars there were in this lot. It almost made me feel guilty about coming to this. I was just taking up space that should belong to those who are actually addicted to stuff like drugs, alcohol, suicide, pain, etc.

I just hoped I didn't find any homicide addicts. Would they actually have those here? I blinked tiredly as I clutched onto my backpack's right strap. I still had all of my books so my shoulder and my back were killing me. My homework, fortunately, was done so I needed not to worry of that. I made my way to the dented metal doors and then made my way through the metal detectors. After I had been thoroughly searched by the security guard I was given a map and then sent down a hall, specifically labeled on a sign as "narcotics". Yay; they're so special.

I gave another hefty sigh of annoyance as I made my way down the hall. I was bound to stick out; I was paler, had more circles beneath my eyes, and…well, I wasn't anorexic. I'm not obese either but I'm not anorexic. I followed the map to the bright red X on my paper and found myself staring at a plain wooden door with a steel pump handle and a glass window. It was obvious that the opposite part of the door had bars on them as for people to not cut themselves or use broken glass as a weapon of any sort. Rehab is dangerous. Somehow this only amused me more and proved some sense into me being here.

The paper laminated sign beside the door read "Mr. Adrian Walsh". Oh, yay; I get a boring group leader. I pumped the handle and led myself into the classroom. It was not empty but it wasn't in session just yet. "Ah, you must be Bedford Roe!" A man stood up from his plastic seat and greeted me heartily. I raised my eyebrows at him in impression. The man was short, about my height at 5'0 with black hair sticking at odd angles. He wore a black sweater vest and large clunky glasses along with a pair of khaki pants and a pair of loafers. He seemed the ideal stereotype of a group leader or professor.

His dull blue eyes greeted me healthily. "Mr. Walsh?" I offered to him. He nodded eagerly and stuck out his hand. Surprisingly there was a gold wedding band on the ring finger of his left hand. I accepted the hand and shook it without greed or excitement. "There are about…ten more new members that need to arrive but we'll just wait for them. We'll wait all day if we must!" Mr. Walsh seemed eager. "Sit, kid; the last time someone ditched we ended up staying here for three days." A man called from the plastic seat next to where Mr. Walsh had sat.

The man had long blonde hair wrapped in a ponytail and had slight gruff on his chin. He wore a white tank top and a pair of old faded jeans with a pair of sneakers. His bright blue eyes were piercing in a way that led me to discomfort. I accepted his extended hand and shook it averagely. "The name's King," He said with a nod for acknowledgement. I nodded. "Bet," I replied as I headed over to one of the empty seats beside him. The only other people besides King and Walsh were a frail looking woman and a petite girl. The woman was firstly acknowledged as a stereotypical crack addict. She had an anorexic looking body with long, stringy blond hair that led down to her elbows and swung over her pale, slim face. Her beady brown eyes darted back and forth and she was constantly jumping in her seat at the slightest of noises. I just wanted to cry out "boo!" to the girl but that would be very uncharacteristic of me.

The woman wore a pair of sagging blue jeans along with a white t-shirt and a black Hoodie that was stained from dirt and…I'd rather not say. "That, there, is Raven," King said as he saw my eyes go to the woman. "And there," He said, pointing to the shy looking petite girl, "Is Cara," He finished. I found that Cara was prettier than the woman but still showed signs of an addiction. The petite girl wore a pair of long blue jeans, much like the rest of us, which pooled around her Converse. She then wore a red and black horizontally striped t-shirt and a black Hoodie. Her pale face was stained and marred with bruises and cuts and deep violet circles claimed her similar to a raccoon. Her hair was long and black but plaited to a braid over her right shoulder, her bangs dangling over her eyes and clouding her from the world.

Though Cara's black bangs disguised her, I could identify her eyes as a beautiful grey/hazel. She was very beautiful or at least would be had she not been addicted to whatever drug she was addicted to. It was obviously a hefty business seeing as she was so marred.

I settled my backpack beneath my chair as Raven eyed it. Perhaps she thought she could steal money from it and go buy her crack. I doubted this seeing as all of my money was in my wallet in my back pocket. No one could steal that without me going on the offensive. "'Bet'? Stand for something?" King asked. I frowned at him. "Bedford," I replied. King smirked. "You a quiet one, ain't ya." King chuckled and turned to face the wall opposite of him. "What were you sent here for?" He asked. "You'll find out as soon as the other members arrive, I suppose." I responded.

It was after these words that the door flung open. In walked ten very large, very muscled boys or men. Each of them had tans and features that identified them distinctly as Quileute. "Which one of you is Sam?" Mr. Walsh called to the boys. He seemed like a munchkin compared to the boys of the Quileute tribe. I let out a hefty sigh and placed both elbows on my knees. "I'm bored," I grumbled as I faced the same wall as King. King chuckled along with most of the Quileute boys. After each were finally seated in chairs that looked child-sized beneath them (much to my amusement) they introduced themselves. First came Sam.

He seemed a bit…well, let's just call him reluctant. "I'm Sam Uley and I am here for a steroid addiction." He confessed to the group as he turned to look at the ground. King gave out a loud whistle and applause came from him and Walsh. The other boys and the girls merely gave a hesitant clap. I snorted at the response that Sam got before I pursed my lips, preparing for the boy to the right of him. The boy stood, sighing in irritation. He obviously didn't want to be here and I very briefly wondered if he would go on 'roid-rage for me. It sure would be entertaining.

"I'm Jacob Black," The boy/man grumbled irritably, glancing over at Sam who gave a small imperceptible nod. "And I have a steroid addiction." He practically growled before launching back into his seat, his cheeks roaring with a crimson blush. Though the two boy/men were similar, there were some obvious differences. Sam had longer, darker hair that fell just barely to his chin and some laugh lines and wrinkles marred his face, indicating an older age than the others. He wore a soft grey tank top with a set of denim cut-offs and a set of wooden flip-flops despite the Washington weather. His eyes were a soft chocolate but honestly, who really gets anything from someone's eyes? I've never been good at reading eyes.

Mister Jacob Black, though, was obviously very much younger than Sam. His hair was cropped short, spiked on top of his head and yet slick and smooth. His skin was just as russet as the others yet there was a tone…something softer beneath that skin. His features were pert, somewhat youthful. He looked like a boy, not a man. His muscles were covered by a set of jeans and a black t-shirt, taut on his torso.

Jacob's tennis shoes peeked from beneath the short hems of his jeans, showing several grays of duct tape that seemed to just barely hold his shoes together. I held in another snort at his shoes by glancing away from him. I only returned my sight when the next person stood up. I was definitely shocked by this one; it was a girl. And let me tell you this, this girl definitely looked pissed that she was even here. When she stood, only then did I notice that she had very feminine features but had been caught in the swarm of males and easily mistaken with her short-cropped hair. Somehow, though, the girl made it work. She was definitely about a foot or two taller than me, her long legs shown in a set of khaki shorts and a blue sweater. Her skin seemed almost silky beneath the lights and her face definitely seemed feminine. She was absolutely gorgeous. I definitely kind of envied her.

"My name is Leah Clearwater and I am here for steroid abuse." The girl bit out. Her voice scared me, coating every word in venom and ice. I restrained the flinch but King didn't, easily snapping back in his chair and showing a mockingly frightened expression. Cara giggled at this, her shy pale cheeks flushing. Raven just scowled at King for having scared her. King mouthed a quick sarcastic "sorry" in Raven's direction before turning back to the girl. I turned back as well only to find that the girl had already sat down but was glaring in King's direction. The next person stood, yet another male. Now I was on the lookout for girls but I didn't see any other than Leah, even on my second check.

The next person was a boyish person, obviously very, VERY young. His features showed it all in their pertness and the way he absolutely grinned at everyone, despite how almost everyone was glaring at him for his cheerfulness. I looked curiously upon the boy. "My name is Seth Clearwater and I am here for steroid abuse." He announced. I restrained my laughter however it bubbled up in another snort. No one seemed to notice though. This boy was dressed in a dark blue Argyle-designed sweater-vest with a set of khakis on his legs. His shoes were a set of loafers, easily leather. His hair was combed to the side. _Clearwater…siblings…_I concluded as I glanced between Leah and Seth. I could see the resemblance in cheekbones now and the same eyes, same shade of brown. _They must've been dressed by their mother. _I realized as I looked at the khakis. Suddenly I was grateful for my mother's taste in clothes instead of khaki.

Finally the fifth person stood, looking uncomfortable as he shifted from foot to foot. This boy/man had odd features, seeming ageless to me, as his hair was shaggy, down to his chin. His sandy brown eyes shifted from each member of his group to the other. He wore a sagging, worn-thin gray/black t-shirt and a set of holey jeans and a pair of duct-taped tennis shoes (just like Jacob). But his hair looked lighter in color than just the average black; it seemed almost brown. "Um, I'm Quil Ateara," He announced hesitantly. "And I have a steroid addiction." He admitted. Oh, yay.

I sighed before succumbing to my need. "Let's just assume that you all have steroid addictions." I grumbled, just barely loud enough. Each boy turned to me but the last one that I saw, the one in the circle beside Raven, caught my eye. To say that he was gorgeous would be an extreme understatement. His hair was definitely dark brown instead of black as his skin seemed more velvety than the others. His features were extremely grim yet ageless. His muscles seemed a bit larger than the others yet they were excellently proportioned. He was shorter than the rest yet definitely taller than me, about a foot or so taller than me. He wore a soft grey V-neck t-shirt with a set of ratty jeans and a set of dog-tags dangling down his chest. His feet were covered in a set of wooden sandals but still, his body was excellent.

Remember what I said about me not being able to read eyes? Well, I got something off of these. This…God's eyes lit up at just the sight of me. They all of a sudden seemed a lighter brown, caramel. He seemed almost…happy to see me. It was weird but it left me with warmth in my chest, in my centre. I was still leaned forward on my knees but I wanted to be near this boy; I felt drawn to him.

"That's not how we do things here, Miss Roe." Walsh sighed, obviously irritated with my upheaval of his obviously good-going meeting. I regrettably tore my eyes away from the practically-a-staring-contest look that this mystery God and I had been sharing, only to turn to Mr. Walsh and glare. "Fine," I hissed at him, angered that he had interrupted whatever had been going on. And from then on I didn't bother listening to the others until it was this boy's turn. He stood up, still looking at me. But that didn't last long as he had to look at the rest of the "group" (as my mother would call it).

"My name is Embry Call and I am addicted to…steroids." The boy managed to choke out.

I liked to believe he regretted to tell me he was addicted to anything. _Embry…I've never met an 'Embry' before. _I thought likably to myself. I wondered curiously to myself why I wasn't mentally degrading him for being addicted to steroids. I guess I liked the guy. Raven stood up as Embry sat down. This meant that there were two people more before it was my turn; I got to go last. I was glad I was keeping Embry on his toes, not knowing my name and all.

Raven stood, admitting she was addicted to heroine, crystal meth and some other narcotics and I had no clue existed. I grinned at Embry as Cara stood up and admitted to being addicted to heroine. I only pulled myself away from Embry's stare and wildly panty-dropping grin when King stood up.

"Hello to you all!" King exclaimed wildly as he flashed his arms up. He stayed silent for a bit before he waved his arms about. "Answer!" He demanded jokingly. I laughed aloud now, not able to control myself. There were a few hesitant "hello's" and some "hi's" before he seemed hesitant. "My name, to you all, is Kingdom Francis and I am proud to say that I am addicted to some substance or another." King announced. A few of the people from Embry's group gave out boisterous laughs as Raven and Cara seemed to glare. "I would tell you what substance but I seem to have lost all memory of the events in which these addictions occurred." King announced, mouthing the light word of "whoops" to everyone. See? This is why I came to rehab.

I could only grin as King sat down, tapping his chin as he "attempted to recall his memory of the substance". I finally managed to sigh and stand to my feet, showing just how short I was. I barely came up above Embry and his group when they sat down! "Hello," I attempted with a small wave as my opposite hand slapped against my thigh. There were mumbled responses, including Embry's louder-than-the-rest 'hi'. "I," I announced, jabbing a hand to my center of my chest. "Am Bedford Roe and according to my so-called parents, I have an addiction to pot." I announced. Walsh was quick to correct me.

"Ah! We call it marijuana here." Walsh corrected. I merely raised my eyebrows before responding. "Well, it's easier to call it pot so I'm going with that." I answered, giving a sly double-thumbs-up response before sitting down. Mr. Walsh merely sighed before standing from his seat between me and Sam. I frowned to myself as he managed to glance at the entire group without straining himself. Finally he turned around and shoved his plastic chair away, effectively pushing it against the wall. Now all that was in its place was an unnoticed large plastic bin. I glanced in the bin only to find several red rubber balls in the plastic casing.

"This," Mr. Walsh called out as he plucked one of the palm-sized red rubber balls from the bin and held it up to show everyone.

"Is your stability."

**You gotta love Mr. Walsh and his crazy quirks! Mr. D is out at this moment so I'll have to tell you myself; I disclaim all Twilight rights and characters. I claim all of my characters but I do love it when my characters are mentioned in a story and I feel particularly fond of Betty so go ahead and pair her with Embry!**


End file.
